Free Outrageous by Christina Dodd Page A

during the night. Maybe she approves of ye.”
    “Maybe she does.” Cold emanated from the walls of cut stone, a cold that bit at his nose, and Griffith breathed deep, reveling in the free flow of air. “She’d be foolish not to.”
    Propping his elbows on his knees, Art examined Griffith through one critical eye. “I thought we settled the issue of yer beauty last night.”
    “I’m not talking about my appearance,” Griffith said. “I’m talking about my character. I can say, without conceit, that I’m stable, respectable, and moral.”
    “God’s blood!”
    “I’m the kind of man a mother would wish her daughter to wed,” Griffith added complacently.
    Art’s one eye blinked at him. “Damned dull, is what ye are. And what’s this about ye wedding Lady Marian?”
    “I didn’t say I was going to wed her, I just said…” Staring at Art, Griffith decided he could not win this argument. Turning the subject, he asked, “Did you know Wenthaven is Marian’s father?”
    “Ah.” Art scratched his ear. “I’d wondered. She seemed so sure she could do as she liked in his house. And there’s the resemblance. ’Tis a little too pronounced for cousins.”
    “Resemblance? There’s no resemblance between that strutting sack of dung and—”
    “And the strumpet ye’ve been sent to guard?”
    Griffith bent his most intense frown on Art, intenton quenching the old man’s sparkle. “She’s not a strumpet. A little high-spirited, mayhap.”
    “Such a shift since last night!” Art marveled. “I wonder what could have changed yer mind. ’Tis the smile, ye know.”
    “What?”
    “The resemblance is in the smile. Wenthaven and Lady Marian both smile readily, and use their smiles to express so much.”
    Collapsing back on the pillow, Griffith considered. “In Marian’s case, it’s mostly scorn.”
    “In Lady Marian’s case?” Art cackled. “In Wenthaven’s case, it’s mostly scorn.”
    “No, that’s malice,” Griffith corrected absentmindedly. Art was right. Griffith had changed his mind about Marian during the night, and he didn’t have to wonder why. She’d responded to his kisses sweetly, hotly, with a hunger long denied. Then she’d bolted like a startled hind. It proved what he desired, that she’d been chaste for many the long days. Since the birth of her son, likely, and before. “It’s not that I think she’s a strumpet. She’s like a wild bird, needing a man’s capable hand to control her.”
    “’Tis coincidence ye’ve trained falcons,” Art interjected.
    Griffith ignored him. “Like this morning. She’s off on a hunt with the other guests.”
    Art looked curious. “Ye’re not going?”
    “Nay, I’m taking her son for a walk, but I told her quite sternly how she was to behave.”
    Art sounded faint when he asked, “How she was to behave?”
    “Most especially, I told her to dress like a lady.” Remembering how she looked in hose, Griffith felt appalled—and aroused—all over again. “Can you imagine the scandal if she rode astride?”
    Art choked and flung himself back on the mattress.
    “Aye, I feel the same way. With a little bit ofguidance—” Art choked again, and Griffith cocked his head. “Art?”
    Art’s shriek of laughter rose from among the bedclothes like the cry of an Irish banshee, making Griffith’s blood run cold.
    Griffith sat up and stared at his writhing, kicking servant. “Art?”
    With snorts and coughs, Art caught his breath. “Ye…told her…to dress like a lady?” At Griffith’s nod, he vented more of his disbelieving merriment, holding his side against the ache. “Aren’t…ye…the clever one? That will no doubt cure…her every mad impulse.”
    Before Art could finish, Griffith was off the bed and dressing in yesterday’s garments.
    When Art could contain himself, he sat up with a blanket around his still shaking shoulders. “Going to take Lady Marian’s laddie for a walk?”
    Griffith cast him a caustic glance as he swung